English Snapshots ____________________________Page

English Snapshots

Life in Lockdown

“Schools will close as of March 24th with early holidays…” was all I heard of Dan Andrews speech on the news. So many thoughts ran through my head – No school for at least three weeks! The Joy! I had so many plans for those three weeks – People to see, places to go. On the top of my list, Phillip Island. For almost all of Term 1 we had planned, organized and paid good money for a 3-night stay on the island. I was going to get to spend this time with my family, my nanna and auntie. I was going to see the penguins and spend relaxing time walking on the beach. Second on my list was my best friend who lives up the hill. The freedom: Getting out, riding on our bikes, playing drums and guitar, Xbox and racing our remote-control cars, we had plenty of time, after all. I was even hoping to be able to ask Callum to join us on a trip to the chocolaterie. That was all about to change. On the TV I see idiot Daniel Andrews holding yet another useless microphone. He said “There are only four reasons to go outside: Shopping for essentials, exercise, medical reasons and essential services workers. Everyone else MUST stay at home, to flatten the curve.” In one sound grab, Daniel Andrews ruined my, and probably everyone else’s, holiday plans. I hated sharing a name with an him! I was frustrated! My three weeks of freedom had become three weeks of boredom. Three weeks passed slower than snail’s pace. My days were only broken up by a bike ride in the middle of everyday, and even that I had to do with my family. The only highlight was my mum perfecting ciabatta bread – the best bread I have ever tasted. I counted the days down with X’s on the calendar and looked forward to returning to school, and then, he struck again! “Anyone who can work from home, MUST learn from home…” Mr Andrews and another press conference, ruining my day. Term 2 is eleven weeks. I was looking at eleven more weeks of pure torture. ‘Remote learning’ he was calling it. I love computers but fifty-five days stuck in front of my laptop is really a killer. The weeks passed, some quick, some slow. Breakfast one morning, mum hushed me, we heard that “…Years 3 – 10 will return to face-to-face learning on the 9th of June…” not Dan Andrews this time, it can’t be because the news didn’t ruin my day. James Merlino, Education Minister, gave me my first piece of good news for ages. Safe to say, this weekend I am avoiding ALL TV and radio news. SJC – See you Tuesday!

Daniel Di Santo, 7B

The Mansion on the Midnight Grass

The rain trickles down onto the bitter-smelling cobblestone as the lignite pigmented cab moves into the glimmering driveway. The accompanying cars trail behind the cab’s every turn. The driveway stretches far, at least 500 meters going forward and roughly 14 wide. I feel the urge to start a conversation with the driver, but turn away and lock my mouth in a box. I step out, the cream coloured envelope from Master Charles Lancaster III clenched in my palm. The scent and sound of opulent heels catches my attention. A young woman in a scarlet dress strides past the other side of the cab. “We best be going inside shouldn’t we,” the lady rhetorically asks. An infectious grin spreads across her face, causing my mouth to shape. “I suppose you’re right,” I laugh. “Let us fetch a drink for old time’s sake… Miss Rosemary D’Arbanville.” The giant, freshly painted double doors unlatch as we’re greeted by two people lazing about and drinking on the luxurious leather couches. A withering man with no leg, grey and brown hair sprouting out of his dark-skinned head. He bears war uniform, badges streaking down his navy-green coloured clothes. The other, a young man wearing a red and green car racing uniform. “That will be £2000 kind sir!” An uneven frown spreads across the loser’s face. “I guess ze oddz aren’t in yur favor today eh Sarge!” “What a peculiar accent,” I think. “It’s ought to be Spanish, I am sure of it. And of course, the other man has to be a sergeant, as his companion has just s___.” A sound like no other shakes the building. It sounds like a cat stuck in a blanket, tumbling down hundreds upon thousands of stairs. A body thumps to the feet of the staircase, a jade snake-handled dagger inserted betwixt the man’s shoulder blades. “Gewd Gad!” Stammers the tipsy, but elegant Spanish fool. A scream fills the foyer as Miss D’Arbanville hides her eyes from the horrific scene. “It is decided!” I yell amidst the commotion. Lightning cracks among the skies. “We will split up, search for the murderer and uncover why Master Lancaster has invited us to this unholy building!” My shell-shocked ex-wife and the two strangers nod in agreement. “Sergeant… you’re with me.” The paint-flaking door creaks to an open as we stumble into a small room. Light, swallowed up in the shadows and darkness. Our footsteps, a diminuendo on the wooden floor. Four, then three, then two footsteps can be heard. “Sergeant this looks troublesome… we might have to search someplace else. Sergeant? Sergeant?!” But I hear no reply. Just my empathetic voice echoing in what seems like a deep void that goes nowhere. My blood turns to ice and my heart beat intensifies. The shimmering of a crystals becomes louder and louder. “JUMP!” My hairs stand on end and I become frozen with fear. “SNAP!!” The beautiful relic speeds to the timber ground. A soft touch forms around my waist as I am somehow moved out of the field of danger. “Maybe you should have kept me as your wife Dr. Miller. I sure know how to help my husband when he’s in need of saving,” she cackles. “If that ceiling-decoration had of been 5 inches closer, it would’ve completely shattered and squashed my bones,” I ponder. “BANG!” Our footsteps, a crescendo in the wind. Three, two, no…six feet walking across the midnight coloured grass. Although one didn’t make it out, he would’ve wanted this for us. “It’s been quite obscure, this night. Let us now fetch the police about Master Lancaster and then buy a couple of drinks and give cheers to Sergeant’s spirit,” the Spanish man says. Silently Rosemary and Myself nod in agreement. “There’s just one problem,” I say. “What is it?” Rosemary questions. “You’re not Spanish are you Mister. You do not have the same accent as from the foyer. I remember precisely.”

Erik Miller, 7C